


Carillons à musique

by Tayani



Series: Goro Week [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Goro Week - day 2, M/M, Melancholy, Sad, Shuake is there but, this could theoretically happen in canon as well, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 22:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20767982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tayani/pseuds/Tayani
Summary: Goro Week day 2 - angst / justice / maskThere was nothing special about the day Ren got his music box.





	Carillons à musique

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been inspired by Polish lullaby, "A Porcelain Doll". 
> 
> The tune described in the story is ["Memories" by Michael Ortega](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Z3h0T-LJAM) if you'd like to know what I had in mind writing about it.

There was nothing special about that day.

The rain has been pouring out of the sky, splattering on the empty streets into thousands of little droplets. It beat out a crescendo against the unyielding frame of Ren’s umbrella as he held it over his head, walking down the drenched streets, trying to keep up with Ann and Ryuuji walking in front of him.

It was no planned outing; the three of them having decided to kill some time together after school and eat something on their way. He could see Ann and Ryuuji talking with one another, though he couldn’t hear what they were saying through the downpour of the heavy rain. It filled the air, creating walls of gentle sound that cut him away from the world all around him. It felt calming; it felt very lonely. In the sudden gloom, his friends disappearing into the buildings of the Shibuya station from where, he knew, they’ll continue onwards without him, on their way to their homes. Ren looked to the side and noticed something he never cared to notice before.

Through the thick curtain of rain, he saw warm light coming from the shop on the other side of the street. He never visited that shop; in Shibuya’s usual daily buzz, he doubted he’d have even seen it there. And yet there it was, the light warm and alluring.

Ren should have been getting home; and yet, he somehow couldn’t stop himself from walking towards the light. In the gloom of the rain this evening, it looked like a glow of some underwater creature, pulling him in.

The door was old and wooden, fitted with glass panes. Ren couldn’t see what was inside too clearly – the glass in the door was uneven, bending the shapes behind it into swirls of indistinct colour. He hesitated and then pushed the door open, slipping inside, leaving his umbrella on an old stand right in front of the door. It was the only one there – he was obviously the only customer.

Right as he entered, he was met with a heavy, musty scent – one of old books and even older wood polish. The shop was empty and very quiet; the rain whispered against the windows as if it wanted to tell him a secret in a language no one but it understood. Ren looked around, over the shelves with very random merchandize set upon them. There were books – a lot of books, all over the place, and not only on the shelves. There were small, spindly tables and chairs, with more books set up on them, alongside porcelain dolls, old figurines, pieces of sculpture, pocket watches…

In the stillness of the shop, they all seemed to be looking at him, watching him – not in a hostile way, but with curiosity. With sudden but complete certainty Ren thought this shop very rarely saw a customer.

He walked through the narrow corridors in between the carefully stacked books and pieces of furniture, mindful not to hit anything on his way. A beautiful, porcelain vase caught his eye; then, he leaned over to examine an intricate old candlestick set on top of a tower of old books. Finally, just as he was looking up from a delicate bisque doll ballerina, standing on one leg in her golden dress by the foggy mirror, something else entirely caught his eye.

A counter had emerged from piles of  _ everything  _ in this mysterious shop. It was made of dark, old wood that long ago lost its polished gleam. There were more books strewn over it, together with a very old register…

…and with a small, exquisite box, gleaming softly in the dim light of the mysterious shop.

It felt as if Ren has been enchanted by the box; as if it was this that pulled him through the rain towards this shop; as if his only purpose for being here was to find it. His heart was hammering in his chest as he reached out a hand and touched the beautiful piece. It felt rough against his fingertips, due to many engravings in the wood. It was roughly square; the lid making up a good third of the box’s height. There was a single, tiny drawer with a keyhole in it underneath, but Ren couldn’t be bothered wondering what was inside just yet. Eyes wide and seeing nothing but the box, he gently, carefully pulled it open.

The sound of music rang in the quiet shop, filling it with an almost heart-wrenching sweetness. Ren watched, enchanted, as a lonely figurine rose up on the platform inside the music box, waltzing slowly around it. It wasn’t very big, but sculpted in astonishing detail – every last detail of the dancer’s clothes and face were captured so well he almost seemed real. It was a figurine of a prince, in white, elegant clothes, a half-mask covering one eye, porcelain hair falling over it so lightly it seemed almost real. His arms were stretched as if he was holding an invisible partner, and his face…

Ren’s heart squeezed in his chest, the sweetest pain coursing through him. The prince was smiling – but it was the most sad, melancholy smile Ren has ever seen, on a real person or a piece of art. It was a smile that caught you by the heart with its ethereal beauty and forbade you from looking away. And at that moment, Ren felt sure he could spend hours simply standing in this quiet shop and looking at this hauntingly beautiful, sad face, listening to the gentle tunes of the music box.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing!”

A sharp voice erupting right in Ren’s ear felt like a slap to the face. He jumped up straight in the air like a cat as an old man limped out from a curtained doorway behind the counter, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. Ren opened his mouth, trying to stutter an apology, but the man was no longer looking at him; his eyes fell on the intricate box, where the lone dancer finished his dance and now stood mutely, facing the man. Ren saw his face change from annoyance and anger to bewilderment and confusion.

“Well, I’ll be damned…” he said in a hushed voice and then delicately and with great care, the man closed the music box and looked at Ren suspiciously.

“…you’ve opened this?” he asked. Ren felt the heat rising in his cheeks.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, I thought it was simply another item for sale… I didn’t mean to do any harm, it was… it was just so… so beautiful, I—”

“Hmph,” the man said, limping towards an old, very worn chair behind the counter and sitting on it heavily. He had extremely piercing eyes, and they were currently bearing into Ren’s. The teen felt as if they were looking right into his soul – he looked away.

“So… you wanted to buy my music box, did you, boy?” the shop owner inquired, in a voice that was only slightly grumpy by now. Ren swallowed, hard. He looked at the box again; he  _ longed  _ to see the dancer’s beautiful face, just one more time. The thought of having the box for himself; being able to see the dancer every day and listen to the enchanting music… it almost made him dizzy.

“I—I don’t think I have enough money for something this precious,” Ren swallowed, staring at the box. “I could… if you held it for me, I have some part-time jobs; I could…”

“It’s not for sale, boy,” the shop owner sighed, shaking his head. Ren felt colour rise in his cheeks again as great disappointment hit him over the head. For just a moment, he thought he might—

“You’re right – something this precious can’t be bought by any money you can offer me. Plus, it’s broken.”

“Broken?” Ren asked, surprised. To him, the music box seemed flawless. The old man sighed and nodded silently.

“There used to be two dancers, see.” He looked up at Ren once more, with his piercing eyes. And then, as if suddenly making a difficult decision, the man slid the box across the counter, towards him.

“Take it,” he said simply. Ren stared.

“But you’ve said—”

“I said, it’s not for sale. No one said anything about giving it away. Now take it and get out before you start touching any more of my things, boy.”

“But—” Ren stammered, though even as he did so, his hands closed delicately around the proffered box. He looked down at it; it felt perfect in his hands, shining beautifully like a jewel. “But  _ why  _ would you…”

“Well…” The older man sighed. Suddenly, he looked very, very tired. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone so keen on this old music box… and more than that…”

He stopped; his eyes became distant as if he was looking deep into the past. Ren waited politely, curious of what the man would say next.

“…it’s been a while since I’ve seen him  _ smile _ , boy. You take good care of that box, you hear me?”

* * *

The way home seemed excessively long that evening as Ren walked out of the shop, his new music box held carefully in his arms. He didn’t let go of it for a moment, all the way home. He even allowed the rain to drench his back in his effort to keep the umbrella over his treasure so that the humidity would not get to it. Once in his attic, he set the box carefully on the shelf right by the head of his bed and opened it, taking a sharp breath when, inside, the prince started to dance to the sad tune once more.

He was still smiling the same, sad smile – well, of course he was, Ren chided himself. He had no idea what the shop owner meant with what he had told him. What was important was, he’s gotten the enchanting music box. Smiling happily and swaying lightly to the music himself, Ren changed his wet clothes to pyjamas and climbed into his bed. The moonlight fell from the window behind his back, illuminating the little prince – not dancing, but stationary once more.

“Goodnight,” Ren said, without even knowing why he did so. “I know this is no palace… but I promise I’ll take good care of you, my prince.” 

He fell asleep easily that night, and in his sleep, he dreamed a dream.

He was standing in some sort of a ballroom, though nothing about his surroundings felt truly real. He seemed to be standing a little above the main dancefloor. All around him, the sweet, haunting music of the music box seemed to be coming out of the walls themselves. And there was another sound; a sound of hushed laughter and whispered words. In the middle of the dancefloor, lost to all the world around them, there danced two figures – one clad in white, the other in red. Both had half-masks on their faces, but as they twirled around nearer to him, Ren recognized the prince from the music box – only real now, and smiling not the sad smile he remembered, but the sweetest, most lovely smile of pure happiness. His partner, slightly shorter than he was, had unruly dark hair like Ren’s own; though no matter how close the two were, Ren could not see his face.

He watched them dance, feeling their happiness, feeling their love for one another. It could be tasted in the air, could be felt in every movement, every adorning look. Ren felt wetness against his cheeks and realized he was crying; he was smiling through tears.

Then, suddenly, there was a great rumble; the dark-haired, red-clad dancer pushed his prince away as the floor seemed to fall from under them. Ren still couldn’t see his face, but he was sure he saw a smile there as the lonely figure disappeared into the darkness, leaving his prince scrambling to his feet and running towards him, wanting to save his lost love—too late.

Ren woke up in the early hours of the morning. The side of the pillow he laid his cheek at was damp with tears. He turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling with wide, confused eyes as the dream played out in his mind once more, making his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

It all seemed so real – the two dancers, their love and happiness; the prince’s despair upon losing his lover…

Struck by a sudden thought, Ren’s head whipped to the side, looking at the open music box on the shelf by his bed. The lid was still open; the prince was still there, lonely on his pedestal, lacking a partner he could sweep in his outstretched arms. Everything was just like it was before he went to sleep, only…

Stunned, Ren watched as a tiny drop formed under one porcelain, unseeing eye. He watched as it grew bigger and bigger, and then fell, flowing down the prince’s cold cheek and joining a stream of others, ones which went beforehand. Ren felt his own eyes fill with tears all over again. It was impossible not to cry – one could not witness such despair, such immense sadness and remain unmoved.

Outside, first rays of sunlight broke through the heavy clouds. The day was just about to start.

* * *

“Sit down, boy. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

The old owner of the shop recognized Ren as soon as he stepped over the threshold that day, right after school. In the light of day, Ren realized why he never saw the shop there before – its dreary exterior got completely lost in between other, more flashy Shibuya shops. Finding it again was a relief. Ren half-expected the strange shop would have disappeared overnight.

“The music box you gave me…” Ren started and then trailed off. The owner of the shop looked up at him with an eyebrow risen. The music box in question has been set on Ren’s lap, the raven holding onto it securely and refusing to set it down.

“Got bored of it already?”

“No!” Ren protested, flushing deeply when the owner gave him an amused look. “I mean… I had… I had a strange dream. And the next morning… oh, you’re not going to believe me…”

“Try me,” the old man said, walking near with two cups of tea and setting them carefully on the counter, before settling down in his armchair once more. Ren took a deep breath.

“The prince… the figurine inside the music box, he  _ cried _ !”

The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them or make them feel more believable; but whatever effect he thought they’d have on his audience, it has not been achieved. The older man sighed, sipping his tea.

“Yes, I thought he might. I’ve seen him cry a few times myself, too. I think you remind him of his partner, boy. That’s why I gave him to you so willingly; I think he—”

“But he’s a  _ figurine _ !” Ren said, bewildered. “He’s not— _ It’s  _ not alive, it’s just porcelain! How can he—”

“I have no idea, boy.” The shop owner shrugged. “All I know’s this – that music box has been in this shop for decades. My father was a boy when my grandfather bought it and brought it here. I spent my childhood watching the two dancers dance. When I married my wife and gotten kids of my own, and when I sat down with  _ their  _ kids in turn, I’d tell them stories of the gallant prince and the daring dancer who stole his heart. I’d invent all sorts of stories – of how an evil king turned the prince and his young love to porcelain, to punish them for disobedience; or how the prince begged a witch to immortalize him and his lover, so that they could dance forever, unchanged. In any case… perhaps life isn’t something you’re only born with, boy. Perhaps it’s something you can acquire.”

Ren stared, open-mouthed. Then, he looked down at his music box again, his fingers caressing the roughness of its surface.

“…what happened to the other dancer?” he asked, in a hushed voice. Slowly, he opened the music box again, and again, they both saw the lonely prince dance to the same, hauntingly sad melody. The shop owner sighed and, very gently, pulled the box out of Ren’s hands, not interrupting the prince’s dance.

“It was all my fault,” the shop owner muttered, shaking his head. “See that table there…? There, by the window… That’s where the music box used to sit, when this place was in better shape, and so was I. It was such a  _ stupid  _ mistake. I put some books on the windowsill just over the table. One day, the wind was strong enough it snapped the window open and knocked over some books. One crashed down, right onto the box.”

Slowly, the shop owner bent down, rummaging somewhere behind the counter. Then, he produced a single, golden key. It was tiny, he could barely hold it in two fingers. Ren understood it was the key to the small drawer in the music box, the one he didn’t explore yet. Now, the shop owner inserted the key and turned it, opening the drawer with a little  _ click _ . The prince stopped dancing. He was facing them both now; his face looked as if it lost what little colour the porcelain could retain. The shop owner looked up at Ren and sighed once more, pulling the drawer open.

Inside, there was scarcely more than red dust; pieces, tiny, minuscule pieces of porcelain littering the drawer. Here and there, Ren noticed elements he almost recognized; a glimmer of gold that could have been a button, a strand of black that could have once been hair. But the figurine of the second dancer was smashed beyond repair, gone forever. Ren stared at the remains in shock, unable to think of anything to say.

“He smashed, down into a million pieces. I’ve never known a figurine to smash so completely like that, not after just being knocked over… and the strangest part is, you know, these two were two pieces. Fitting together perfectly, yes, but completely separate. And while I found what was left of this one on the floor… the prince… he was knocked over deep into the box, away from all harm. Not a single scratch on him. And I’ve thought, I’ve thought then – that’s ridiculous, right. It’s almost as if—”

“As if he’s been pushed out of harm’s way,” Akira finished, in a hollow voice. The shop owner looked up at him and nodded. He sighed, replacing the drawer and then fishing up a small handkerchief, dabbing it – not unkindly – against the prince’s porcelain face. He was crying again and, after hearing all this, Ren’s heart was breaking for him.

“Selfish of his dancer, really,” the shop owner continued. “Imagine… someone you love, pushing you out of harm’s way just to sacrifice himself. I’d have rather been dead with him, myself. When you lose something dear and precious like this… what’s the life worth living for anymore?”

Ren hesitated, and then decided against replying to the man’s words. Instead, he contented himself in looking at the lonely figure of the prince, forever locked in a solitary dance, his outstretched hands forever unable to hold the one he loved again.

Down the prince’s porcelain cheek another tiny drop formed; slid down; fell, in silent agony; and Ren understood, the shop owner was right.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my stories, you can find me on twitter [@mikan_writings](https://twitter.com/mikan_writings) and/or tumblr at [mikan_writings](https://mikan-writings.tumblr.com/)!


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